


The little mermaid

by architect_of_future



Category: Original Work
Genre: "mermaid" Liam, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion, Creatures of the sea, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Merman Liam, Modern Era, Other, Prince Alex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 10:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architect_of_future/pseuds/architect_of_future
Summary: Did you ever hear the tale of Liam Dunhing, the boy who was born on a fisherboat? No? Well, that doesn't surprise me, after all, I just thought it up.But that's actually my given (self-given, but anyway) name, Liam Dunhing - a pretty, almost royal name, don't you think?But I wasn't born on a ship. Actually, I've never been on one either. I've seen them, from below, skirting over the sun speckled blue waves.Thought of touching them, swimming alongside them like the fishes do. But I'm not one of them and I can't go up there, however much I want to.





	The little mermaid

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story and it's written without a beta reader so feel free to point out any mistakes, be it grammatical or otherwise. 
> 
> I'm always happy about reviews and critique, so leave them if you can or want to. Anyway, enjoy reading!

Did you ever hear the tale of Liam Dunhing, the boy who was born on a fisherboat? No? Well, that doesn't surprise me, after all, I just thought it up.  
But that's actually my given (self-given, but anyway) name, Liam Dunhing - a pretty, almost royal name, don't you think?

But I wasn't born on a ship. Actually, I've never been on one either. I've seen them, from below, skirting over the sun speckled blue waves.  
Thought of touching them, swimming alongside them like the fishes do. But I'm not one of them and I can't go up there, however much I want to. I would get caught up in their nets and the rough wood, littered with shells and sharp corals, would hurt my skin.  
I've seen fishes get trapped under bigger boats, between the underside and their comrades, slicing their delicate skin open until they bled red. I caught their corpses afterwards, when they sank down into the deeper waters and ate them, so their death would have a purpose.

There weren't many boats on the sees anymore, anyway. And the gigantic ships you could see in the past, were a rarity. Since my kind came out from the deep dark depths of the ocean, the humans became afraid of sailing over the sees. Big, heavy ships were easy prey, too slow to get away and with enough place to attack. Some of us had claws and teeth that could cut and bite through steel as if it were the soft innards of a mackerel.  
And humans, with their soft, scaleless skin and their plump teeth, so slow to swim away and so easily influenced/hindered by the tides, were excellent prey, fast/easy earned food.

Their weapons, bombs and other flashy things, didn't really work in the water, and everything else was much too slow to hurt us. Harpunes were just laughable. We were strong and fast, our scales hard and unbreachable, the soft spots carefully hidden.  
And with the overfished seas and sick fishes, full of plastic and trash, we were short on food - one of the reasons why we came out of our home in the first place. So they also became a promising food source, with the added benefit that the water got cleaner and the fishpopulation regenerated itself.  
When they realised that fighting us was useless -for everyone of us that went down, hundreds of them were killed- they resorted to other methods. Went to places where we couldn't go and the water couldn't reach.  
So they hid away on the ground, building their houses far away from the beaches and cliffs. There were only a few that had the guts to still sail on the ocean, driven by hunger and crushing poverty. Fish were rare and probably sought after, royally paid for on their markets, if you really wanted to risk your life.  
But even those courageous few stayed near the beaches, covering in fear.  
If I showed myself, I would surely scare them away.

I had enough food around me, life in the ocean was flourishing in their absence, so I did not see any need to eat them, they didn't have to fear me. But they still would. I was smaller than most of my kind, fragile even, but I was also still maturing, not a full adult.  
Our forms were almost human-like with faces that resembled theirs, but we lived in the water, breathed it, some of us even were the water, had begun to go blurry at the edges of their beings. But i wasn't, as many younglings, although that would surely change with age.  
Humans were wonderful prey, but their thoughts that flittered/flitted through the air and whispered like nearly muted, small voices in the back of my head, were interesting for sure.  
They spoke of things I hadn't ever seen, blurred, nearly too saturated images, memories, flashing up every so often. And over it all lay fear, covering their minds like an heavy blanket made of darkness and primal instinct.  
Maybe they could feel me, subconsciously, swimming just a mere fifty feet beneath their boats, causing their instincts to go haywire and quivering with the need to get back to safety.

The fish didn't have those feelings, swimming merrily around me, even touching my skin, unaware of the danger, unaware of me being the predator I was.  
If I wanted to see the sun I could just swim upwards to the surface, maybe even play with the sand on the beaches. But the bright light was blinding and the sun was harsh on my skin if I was exposed to it for too long. Here, deep down where it was cool and dark I felt safer than up there, more at home. I ventured there oftentimes in the past, to hunt or just because I wanted to see what humans referred to as the sky.  
But the insistent murmurs that came with being close to other intelligent life forms tended to get on my nerves after a while, so I didn't do it as often anymore.

-&-

It was a quiet day, when I heard that particular voice first. Whispering into my thoughts with laughter in its tone. It was the first mind I felt in a while that wasn't filled and weighted down, dare I say soiled, with fear. It was refreshing to feel such thoughts -they danced, sparkly and colorful, in the back of my head, where othertimes only murky echos of thoughts that clouded my own mind, appeared.  
This, this was different. It piqued my interest for the first time in quite awhile.  
So I swam upwards, not breaking the surface, but hovering just beneath it.

The whispers came from a small boat. An old man -well old for their kind-, his face littered with scars and with curly, frizzly grey hair that had probably once been black, sat on it. Behind him, staring intently at the water was a small youngling. The thoughts, happy and without fear came from them, not the old man, although his mind also was refreshing, calm and quietly calculating. It was wonderful to be in their presence, and I hoped that this amazing brain would never change with age, would never be soiled by the realization that the world was a dark and unhappy, an unfair place. Many older humans seemed to have come to this conclusion. But was that really a way to live, was that really what they wanted to learn from life? Did they want to leave the world unhappy and with heavy thoughts? It was much better to live from day to day and let life float away without much care. Like the ocean and the waves, life was everchanging, and it would drift away before you could get a clear look at it.

Why would you want to waste your fast, insignifant lifetime trying to keep it as is, trying to keep everything the same and moving in a calculated pattern? What a sad way to spend your time. But it was not my way. And it didn't seem to be the way of this youngling, this child, either. It was amazed by the sunlight that glittered on the sea and the skin of the fishes, it enjoyed such simple things as the colour of the deep ocean. It made me realize how nice all these things were that were just normal for me. The deep blue of the sea was magnificent and worthy of being admired, the sun was a force so strong it could burn your skin but it could be so beautiful.

That humans were able to feel such emotions was news to me. And that they could make me feel such emotions was even stranger.  
It was quite surprising to me when the old man suddenly stood up and told the youngling that it could go swimming if it wanted to, that they were far enough out on the sea now.  
It struck me as odd that they would want to swim out here, especially with such a small human (could it even swim? Were they born being able to swim?) and it was even stranger that they would do so with the known danger of us lurking around.  
The mind of the old man still remained silent and calm and didn't lend me a clue as to why they would do this.  
But sometimes humans behaved really strange without any reason at all. The child, however, was overcome with happyness and stayed that way when the old one heaved it from the boat into the water. So they could swim from a young age after all.

It played with the water, the waves that crashed against the boat and lost itself in the suns reflection on the surface of the ocean. So oblivious to the danger that lurked directly, just about ten metres beneath its feet, it kind of reminded me of one of those small fishes, without a care in the world.  
The man stood there for some time and then began to drive away, further and further away from the playing kid.

"Hey!" I wanted to shout, "Hey! You're forgetting your youngling!" But it wasn't for me to interefere if he wanted to leave it here on its own. Maybe it was a special child and could survive in the water. That would explain why it was so unafraid. It didn't seem to have noticed that its companion was no longer there. Maybe he would come back soon and collect it.  
I thought humans, fragile creatures that they were, could not survive long without a surface to stand on. They died so easily drowning in the sea, apparently not able to filter the oxygen that they needed to survive from the water.

But the gray haired man didn't come back. And the child, when its limbs grew heavy and the glowing exitement faded a bit, wanted to get back on the fisherboat, noticed that it was no longer here. It began to shout for its companion, its calls slowly getting desperate and after a while, they stopped, its mind filled with panic and hurt.  
Maybe this was a new way they got rid of their unwanted younglings, although there seemed to be easier ways than to face the danger of rowing all the way out here and just leave them to die. Or it was a kind of sacrifice? Some humans left them just after we began to rise from the deep to near the surface. They would tie one or more persons with rope and throw them into the water, maybe hoping for a safe passage or to pacify us. But while we gladly took the easy food, why would this placate us? A ship contained so much more tasty flesh that was just as easily obtainable. As soon as they realized that their offerings were for naught, they stopped making them.  
But this was also a bit different from the usual sacrifices back then.

The thoughts of the child were screaming now, oh so desperate and with the bitter touch of betrayal and tainted with the fear and the pain of dying. It wasn't able to swim on the surface anymore, its arms and legs giving out, his lungs slowly filling with water. If I waited just a bit longer, it would sink right into my arms. A nice snack, it was a while since I've last eaten the tender meat of a human youngling.  
The stars and dancing colours of his mind were slowly quieting down, swirling down into darkness. It was kind of sad, it was the first interesing encounter I'd had in quite a while. Who'd know when I would stumble over a creature with such colourful, shining thoughts again. Did I need to let it die, was it fair to let the light of such a human be extinguished?

I could save it, surely, if I acted now. But why would I? Such an insignificant, unimportant individual. The world would be better if there was one less human in it. But did it need to be this one?  
I could, couldn't I, just once. I never touched one of them before without the intention to eat them, devour their tasty insides, bath in the red clouds of blood that swirled to the surface. Never thought of touching their skin without breaking it and ripping their entrails apart.  
But when I touched the small body of this particular human, I didn't feel the urge to do just that. Its skin was soft and pliable under my touch. I wanted to stare at it in wonder, but I didn't have the time. Now, that I decided to save it, I had to bring it back to the surface as fast as possible.

Luckily I was fast. I shot through the water, much faster than any fish could, breaking the surface for the first time since at least fifty years. I forgot how blinding the sun really was, how harsh the light and warmth. But I held it up high, out of the water. But.... Why wouldn't it breathe?! It remained still and its mind darker than the deepest sea. Maybe it needed to be on the land, far from any water. Maybe they couldn't live that close to the ocean and drew part of their life energy fron the soil and heavy ground.  
I swam as fast as could, keeping it safely over the surface. It didn't take long until I reached the coast. I heaved myself out of the water and laid it on the dry, hot sand. But it remained seemingly lifeless. I poked it and shook it and let it fall onto the ground when nothing worked.

But that seemed to have actually done something. It began to cough. Ah, the water in its lungs. Maybe that needed to be expelled. How lucky it was to have me here. The water came to me just with a small call, uniting with the wide and far sea.  
And the child seemed to have lost consciousness, but its mind sparkled again. Small explosions of colour breaking through the dark. I felt actually quite relieved. Now that I had decided to save it, it would've been a shame if it would've died just from a little bit of water. So damn fragile.  
I was happy it was alive. How strange.  
I turned around and dove into the water again. Maybe I would never see it again, but it would live and somehow it made my world brighter to know that there would be such a wonderful creature living somewhere on this world, on this planet even. And if that's all I've got from saving this small human, then that had been more than worth it. It made life more interesting. And maybe, we would meet again, sometime, in its tiny lifespan, its thoughts glittering like the sunlight on the surface of my mind. Dancing colours in the back of my head.  
But that was not the tale I wanted to tell you, wasn't it? That wasn't the tale of Liam Dunhing, the boy who was born on a fisherboat. That tale hasn't even started yet. But well, this isn't the story of Liam Dunhing after all, this is the story of me. And while you can certainly call me Liam, my tale isn't about a boy who was born on a fisherboat, but about a sad creature of the sea that never knew of happyness until it came across a particular tiny, insignificant human. And that tale, exaxtly that one, has only just begun.


End file.
